Ruth had worked wonders settling Charlie down. By the time she’d left her friend, arms laden with bread, all seemed much better. The wise girl was right. All Charlie’s worrying was silly, a waste of time.

Back at Devil’s Hollow with a hitch in her step, Charlie slapped a fresh cherry pie down and gave a hunched Nathaniel a grin.

The smile was not returned.

She tried again, teasing, “I haven’t seen you around the last couple of days, Nathaniel. You been avoiding me?”

He was deep in his jar, bleary-eyed and tired. “I ain’t been around is all. Stills needed tendin.”

Charlie could spot the lie from a mile away and grew immediately suspicious. “First Matthew, now you…” Her attention flew to where Eli swept the floors. “Are you next Eli? Want to join the ‘we’re sore at Charlie club’?”

Staring straight ahead, Nathaniel took a deep gulp from his jar and barked, “You had no right running around wild and alone like you were.”

The calm Ruth had sweetly cultivated vanished. Charlie’s hackles went up. “I have as much a right as you do!”

The jar hit the bar, Nathaniel turning his woolly head to glare. “You should’ve stayed where you could be watched over, not prancing around places like Friendly’s!”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Face red, Charlie stood tall. “We’ve traded bawdy stories about speakeasies, whorehouses, and dark alleys for six months. And now suddenly I’m fragile? Take a look at yourself.” She pointed her eyes to his bruised knuckles, the fading marks on his jaw. “I’m the only one of us who left without a scratch. I’m the one who found the bastard. And I’m the one who would’ve had him if you jackasses hadn’t come barging in.”

Nathaniel, stood from his chair roaring right in her face. “What we did to that man, you should never have considered doin, girl!”

“It ain’t nothing I haven’t done before.” Charlie slapped the bar, her other hand a balled up like she might just pop him in the mouth. “And you didn’t even get any useful information!”

“We got answers enough.” He looked downright disgusted with her.

“That’s enough now, Nathaniel.” Matthew burst from his office, pointing at his brother like he better take a step back. “Put down the liquor and head on home now. Sleep it off.”

Grumbling, Nathaniel gripped his jar, shoved past Charlie, and lumbered out the door.

Watching her friend leave, Charlie felt like her heart had been ripped out. Red eyes went to Eli, Charlie unclenching her fist. “You got something to say to me?”

The boy shook his head.

Determined not to cry, blue eyes went to Matthew, she glared at him with so much fury, so much distrust. Fed up with all the coldness, she swiped her pie off the counter and stormed out, loudly cursing the Emerson men to hell.

Walking in the woods, eating a whole pie with her fingers, didn’t help at all. Charlie didn’t know what to do. At the thought of packing up her stuff and hitting the road, she cried.

They might not want her around, but she could still do something for them. She could find out what the hell was going on, break a few necks, and disappear when it was over. She could do that for the Emersons, at least. And then they could fend for themselves.

Mind made up, Charlie went home, finding Matthew had left the porch light on for her. The regulars were gone, Eli was gone, and Matthew she could hear scraping around in his office. Going in quiet, she made her way upstairs, washed up, and opened the door to the lonely bedroom.

Flipping on the light, she caught sight of a large box sitting innocently on the bed. Charlie ran her fingers over the wrapping, the fine ivory waxed-cardboard of the dress shop shining pretty. The bow was carefully pulled, the lid lifted to expose her finished wedding gown.

It was just as beautiful as she remembered, so pretty she was hesitant to touch it. Lifting it out, she held it before her body and faced the small oval mirror. She caught herself smiling. The smile faded. With a sigh, Charlie hung the dress from a peg, sat at the edge of the bed and just looked at it.

She felt foolish. She felt sad.

A light tap came to her door. Charlie stood, opened it just a crack, careful to block Matthew’s view of the gown. The man stood there, Gus tucked under his arm, quiet.

“What?”

A look passed over his face, as if he were trying to decide on what to say. In the end he extended that cat and grunted, “He’s been standing outside your door.”

Taking the kitten, she nodded her thanks, and closed her door. She’d never in her life been quite the blubbering mess she was that night. It was humiliating trying to keep her sniffing quiet, trying not to flat out sob. Lying in that bed, Gus curled up at her side, Charlie stared into the dark, feeling more alone than she had ever known.

Like an infection of the mind, over and over her fight with Nathaniel played in her head. It wasn’t until almost dawn that she wised up.

He’d said, We got answers enough.

He’d said it like it had all been her fault.

Motherfucker.

Roy had coughed up something, something Matthew had neglected to mention, something that stirred up the Emerson hive. Something they weren’t going to tell her. That explained Matthew looking at her so queerly after Nathaniel left; he was trying to gauge if she’d caught on. What if the attack had not been aimed at Matthew at all, what if someone from her past had caught up with her? What if it was all her fault?

The second Matthew heard her door he’d leapt from bed to make sure the golden girl wasn’t making a run for it. He caught her in the hall, her suitcases packed.

“Where you goin?”

Speaking bored as if to remind him, Charlie deadpanned, “Martha’s Shower is in a few days. My train for Chicago leaves this morning. The Radcliffes are expecting me around six.”

His voice came out funny. “It’s your party, Charlotte.”

Brushing past, she moved towards the stairs. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

She refused to let him see her to the platform, wouldn’t look him in the eye. When Matthew came home from the station and found her wedding dress hanging on the wall, it was all he could do not to chase after her, to try and beg her not to cry all night again.

Of course he’d heard it. He’d spent a sleepless night with his ear pressed to her door.

It was safe to say he’d made a right mess of things. But now it was the Radcliffes he had to trust her to. That’s where she was going, she’d have no choice in that. They’d keep her distracted, occupied, so that he might make everything right.

Matthew had lied to her.

Roy Beachum had been ordered to kill any man he found at Devil’s Hollow; that much was true. But Beachum’s gang had been hired to nab Charlotte. They had waited for the men to be gone. And they’d come in after her.

It wasn’t about money.

It wasn’t a turf war, a rivalry, or bad blood with the Emerson clan.

It was about her.

That’s why he couldn’t tell her. She’d run off. He knew it. Nathaniel knew it. She’d run off to keep them safe. She’d run off where bad men might find her. And he could hardly look her in the eye, because every time he did Matthew was certain he would swallow his heart, grab her too tight, and she’d figure out what he’d concealed to keep her safe.

“You can stop glaring at me, Lottie.” Beaumont was entirely bland, bored even, with her glower. He saw her work her jaw and smirked. “It’s a man’s place to protect his wife. Bout time you started to learn that.”

“You owe me an apology, Beau,” Charlie growled, tempted to rip the glass of whiskey out of her mentor’s hand. “Since you opened your mouth my life has gone to hell.”

“You should be thankin me.” Radcliffe’s smirk grew far more arrogant. “I’m doin you a favor.”

“By betraying me? By ruining the only good thing I have ever had going?” That’s it, she was gonna hit him. “I was happy!”

Raising a brow at her burst of temper, Beau looked her dead in the eye, and offered advice. “You say you love that man. Well marriage won’t last if you kept up as you were - sneaking around instead of telling the truth.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Like you tell Martha everything?”

Swirling the whiskey in his glass, Beau crossed an ankle over his knee before sipping. “She knows where every last body is buried, where every last, hard cent is hidden.”

Charlie downed her drink and rudely held out her glass so it might get refilled.

Beau’s fine crystal decanter was drained to the last drop. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Murder was in those baby-blues. “Who hired Roy?”

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Gritting her teeth to keep from shrieking, Charlie leaned nearer. “I know this is somehow my fault. I know you’re all lying to me. What’s Matthew told you? Why do you insist I stay at your house instead of the Drake? Why did you personally pick me up at the station? Did he call you? What’d he say?”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, Lottie...”

Her lower lip shook. “If someone kills him, you’re going to answer for it, goddamn it!”

Beaumont only laughed, opening his coat to pull out a small silver case. Placing a fresh cigarette between his lips, he gave her that look - the playful and dangerous look of an amused evil man.

They sat in silence, Charlie nursing her drink and wounded ego, Radcliffe smoking like he didn’t have a care in the world. When the quiet got boring, Charlie sighed, leaned back defeated, and grumbled, “I have been seeing a lot of Tommy’s ugly mug in the papers. Your boy’s getting pretty notorious – very cocky.”

“Tommy’s down at state line. I got him taking in shipments from the crackers he hates so much. Another week or two of hard labor, and he’ll remember his place.”

“Careful with him, Beau.” Head fuzzy, Charlie watched her friend between narrowed lashes. “That prick sees himself as greatness in the making.”

Beaumont shrugged and sipped his drink. “He’s smarter than some… Smart enough to know what I would do to him should he step out of line.”

“He ain’t that smart.”

Martha was a bit wiser in her handling of the melancholy girl. She had Charlie all to herself for once, and used the time to offer endless distractions. In the mornings, it was Martha who burst in to wake her, Martha directing her maid to fluff, style, girdle, and paint her little protégé, Martha who had each day fully mapped out for them.

Charlie let her have her way, trying to smile, trying to keep up. She kept quiet, she didn’t curse. There was plenty to distract her: shows, restaurants, shopping, museums… it never ended. It was only at night, sitting in the parlor after dinner, that Charlie had a moment’s peace. Three days of it; three long days of trying to be the socialite - a dim flicker next to Martha’s bright flame - had done its job. Charlie hardly had time to think on Matthew.

Everywhere they went, Beaumont’s men were near. If Charlie sneezed, half the room came out of the woodwork to see if she needed a hanky. The morning of the so-called “small” bridal shower, Charlie found the entire restaurant booked, flowers everywhere. Every woman of influence in the city was in attendance. Complete strangers wished her happiness in marriage, offered opulent gifts, and embraced her as if they had been friends for life. The entire thing was absolutely ridiculous.

It was as Martha said, business, a required show - a necessary way for Martha to build bridges and establish who was loyal. Charlie paid attention, watched the subtle communications amongst the females, marveling at just what was really going on. A lifetime with men had left her with hardly a clue as to how women managed in groups. In one day it was clear females were territorial, far more than the men were, and social events forged alliances and defined boundaries.

Mrs. Radcliffe was a powerful woman.

Reporters arrived and shot photos of the blushing bride for the front page, Martha at her side like a mother hen, offering direction on how to manage the crowd, and answering the press’ questions effortlessly and elusively before shooing them away.

Cake, covered in cream and piles of strawberries, was rolled amidst the clapping and soft awes of Martha’s guests. It was good, as was all the champagne waiters kept pouring into Charlie’s glass. By the time the event ended, it was late evening. Tipsy, full of sweet things, Charlie was ordered home.

Beaumont’s men were at the door, Martha waving goodbye so she might stay behind and see all the gifts packed properly in another car.

For a moment everything seemed like it was going to be okay. Charlie even smiled as she stumbled into the back seat of the fancy ride prepared to take her back to the Radcliffe estate.

It wasn’t until the door closed, until the car lurched, that Charlie even realized someone sat beside her. A cloth soaked with chloroform was shoved at her face, Charlie able to do little more than then claw Tommy’s arm before everything went dark.